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The London Artist’s own Version of an Extraordinary Affair: 

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V 

TOSETHEE WITH THE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN 


CHARLES DICKENS and MR. HEAPHY. 



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THE OPINION OF A GREAT DAILY. 


The Chicago I)B,i\y ]Tirne3 for New Year’s clay, 1888, gave its opinion of the Religio- Philosophical Journal as 
follows; * • 


PHILOSOPHICAL JOURNALISM. 

John O. Bundy, editor and publisher of the Religio-Philosophical Journal, reports a continued growth of perman- 
ent circulation that will be very gratifying to the great community of thinkers and students interested in the subjects within 
its editorial scope. It is but fair to say the Religio-Philosophical Journal is now not only recognized as standard au- 
thority— the highest living and contemporary authority— in the philosophy and phenomena of Spiritualism, by the rational 
and conservative Spiritualists of the United States and of England, but is held in the thinking circles of the world as the 
sanest, broadest, ablest, strongest, of all the journals published in the interest of philosophic truth, the tone of the spiritual- 
istic press of England indicating the practical conversion of the faith in that country to the doctrine so long maintained with 
almost austere conservatism by the Journal that scientific proof is the only proper attestation of spiritualistic phenomena. 


OPiailOIS FROM REICH All) PULPIT. ' 


Rev, M. J. Savage, Pastor of the Church of the Unity,” Boston, in a letter published in the Journal, March Brd, 1883, 
says: “I have a most thorough respect for the Journal and believe you are disposed to treat the whole question of Spiritual- 
ism fairly.” 


♦ ♦ * The purpose has seemed to me (a not unexperienced observer) to be to elevate the tone of spiritualistic thought, 
by ever keeping in view the higher objects of life, in almost every phase, and striking at the shackles which confine the nobler 
impulses of human nature, in whatever form they may exist. And, although a careful reader of the Journal, I have yet to 
discover the first instance in which you appeared to me to have swerved one iota from that purpose. * ♦ * i cannot per- 

ceive why any man, who has a due regard for the welfare of society, should not support the Journal, even though he may 
belong to the popular churches of the day . — Extracts from a letter to the editor from Hon. IF. K. McAllister > formerly on the 
Supreme Bench of the State of Illinois, and now one of the Judges of the Appellate Court of the State; published in the 
Journal, Dec. 23r*d, 1882. 


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8 



MR. HEAPHl’S GHOST. 


The London Artistes Own Version of an 
Extraordinary Apparition. 

Mrs. Heaphy’s publication, some months 
ago in London, of the version sent by her late 
husband to Charles Dickens of his wonderful 
ghost story, has recently been presented to 
the public in this country. Mrs. Heaphy’s 
publication, printed in London by Griffith & 
Farran, makes a neat little pamphlet of 
eighty-seven pages. It is enriched with the 
letter written by Charles Dickens to Mr. 
Heaphy, referring to the peculiar circum- 
stances which attended the original publica- 
tion m A ll the Year Hound of an inaccurate 
version of the story. One curious circum- 
stance these letters adds to the many curious 
features of this strange narrative, Mr. Dick- 
ens, it seems, when he received the original 
version from a man of distinguished reputa- 
tion in letters, found that no date was given, 
and, in order to give probability to the story 
which he supposed to be a fiction, put in the 
date of September 13. Strangely enough, it 
turned out to be the case that the series of 
Mr. Heaphy’s ghostly visitations really began 
in the montli of September, 1858. Mr. Dick- 
ens’s attention was good-naturedly called to 
the publication by Mr. Heaphy himself, who 
sent him the whole manuscript account of 
the experience as soon as he saw the version 
published in All the Year Round. Mr. 
Heaphy’s communication was acknowledged 
by JVIr. Dickens in the following letter: 

Gad’s Hill Place, Higham-by-Rochester, ) 
Kent, Sunday, September 15, 1861. ) 

Dear Sir: Allow me to express to you the 
sincere regret I feel that your most remark- 
able story (which I have read with great in- 
terest) should have been innocently forestall- 
ed in the pages of my journal. At the same 
time I must add that your own version of the 
experience is so very curious, and so much 
more striking than the account sent to me, 
that I shall be happy to publish it in All the 
Year Bounds if you should feel disposed to 
intrust it to me for that purpose. 

I received the story pmblished in that jour- 
nal first among the '‘Four Ghost Stories” 
from a gentleman of a distinguished position 
both literary and social, who, I do not doubt, 
is well known to you by reputation. He did 
not send it to me as his own, but as the work 
of a young writer in whom he feels an inter- 
est, and who previously contributed (all 
through him) another ghost story. I will 
immediately let him know what correspond- 
ence I have had with you; and you shall be 
made acquainted with the nature of his reply. 


You may be quite certain I feel sure that 
there has been no betrayal of confidence on 
the part of any one connected with the mag- 
azine for whom you reserved your story. It 
must have been repeatedly told (though prob- 
ably never correctly) in more circles than 
one. It happens that Mr. Layard is staying 
here with me, and instantly recognized the 
version printed m All the Year Round as a 
version of a story he heard at Sir Edward 

Lytton’s in , Hertfordshire, some time 

since. 

As I do not feel authorized in retaining 
your MS. without your consent, I beg to re- 
turn it herewith. But I am anxious to repeat 
my readiness to purchase it for publication 
in All the Year as the authentic story . 

Its interest seems to me to be heightened, 
rather than impaired, by its having been im- 
perfectly told. 

Again expressing my regret that I should 
have been, however innocently and uncon- 
sciously, the cause of a moment’s annoyance 
to you, I am, dear sir, faithfully yours, 

Charles Dickens. 

Thomas Heaphy, esq. 

Mr. Dickens two days afterwards wrote to 
Mr. Heaphy: 

Gad’s Hill Place, Higham-by-Rochester, { 
Kent, Tuesday, September 17, 1861. ) 

Dear Sir: I think I can show you in a 
very few words not only that your lingering 
suspicion is groundless but that everything 
associated with your strange experience 
would seem to be extraordinary. In the ver- 
sion I received and published there was no 
date. All that was set down as to time was: 
“Late in the autumn.” When I came to re- 
vise the story in the proof for press, the need 
of some precise date was so clear to me that 
I myself inserted in the margin of the proof 
the date you find in the published narrative. 
Why that date should have come into my 
head rather than any other I am profoundly 
unable to say. Mr. Layard remembers that 
it is more than a year since he heard Sir Ed- 
ward Lytton tell the story, and he says he 
has a strong impression that he laid it on 
the table in writing. Moreover, Mr. Layard 
is convinced that he has seen it in print, 
though he cannot recollect where. I have 
written to Sir Edward to ask him how he 
came by it. His answer will, no doubt, have 
an interest for you, and I will let you know 
the purport in due course. I read Mr. Layard 
your own account, and he was quite clear in 
his remembrance that S'r Edward’s version 
of it fell as far short as my contributor’s 
does. I think it would be best to call it “Mr. 

H — 7 -’s Own Narrative,” or “Mr. H ’s 

Own Evidence,” and I will introduce it with 
a few lines referring to the version already 
printed and calling attention to it as being 
the authentic story given at firsthand. There 
is no doubt that it ought to appear as soon 
after the wrong version as possible. I will, 


4 


therefore, place it in the nnmber I shall 
make up to-morrow, which will be published 
to-morrow fortnight. I will send you a proof 
from the office in the course of to-morrow, 
and I must ask you to have the kindness to 
return it on Thursday, as we publish simul- 
taneously in America and London and the 
sheets go across the Atlantic by the next 
mail. Dear sir, faithfully yours, 

Chaeles Dickens. 

Thomas Heaphy, esq. 

P. S. — I observe in your narrative that 
you mentioned the young lady’s eating the 
beef and drinking the claret. Do you re- 
member whether the joint was placed on the 
table or carved on the sideboard? and wheth- 
er you seemed to see the figure served as the 
three mortals were, or seemed to find it al- 
ready carved without noticing the progress? 

Office of “All the Year Round,” / 
Friday, September 20, 1861. ) 

Dear Sir: Mr. Layard has not been able 
to remember where or when he saw some 
version of your story in print. Sir Edward 
Lytton received his version in writing from 
Mr. Edward Ward. Sir Edward informs me 
that his version was very superior to that 
published here. I therefore suppose it is told 
nearer your own. He is searching for the 
MS., but has not yet been able to lay his 
hand upon it. Faithfully yours, 

Charles Dickens. 

Thomas Heaphy, esq. 

Mr. Heaphy’s version of the “Ghost Story” 
was finally published with the following edi- 
torial note in All the Year Bound: 

There was lately published in All the Year 
Bound a paper entitled “Four Stories.” The 
first of those stories related the strange ex- 
perience of a well known English artist, Mr. 
H. On the publication of that account Mr. 
H. himself addressed to the conductor of the 
above journal (to his great surprise) and for- 
warded to him his own narrative of the oc- 
currences in question. 

As Mr. H. wrote without any concealment 
in his own name, in full, and from his own 
studio in London, and there was no possible 
doubt of his being a real existing person and 
a responsible gentleman, it became a duty to 
read his communication attentively. And 
great injustice having been unconsciously 
done to it, in the version published as the 
first of the “Four Stories,” it follows here ex- 
actly as received. It is, of course, published 
with the sanction and authority of Mr. H., 
and Mr. H. has himself corrected the proofs. 

Entering on no theory of our own towards 
the explanation of any part of this remark- 
able narrative, we have prevailed on Mr. H. 
to present it without any introductory re- 
marks whatever. It only remains to add 
that no one has for a moment stood between 
us and Mr. H. in this matter. The whole 
communication is at first hand. On seeing 
the article, “Four Ftories,” Mr, H, frankly 



and good-humoredly wrote: “I am the Mr. 
H., the living man, of whom mention is made. 
How my story has been picked up I do not 
know, but it is not correctly told. I have it 
by me, written by myself, and here it is.” 

MR. HEAPHY’S own NARRATIVE. 

I am a painter. One morning in May, 1858, 
I was seated in my studio at my usual oc- 
cupation. [A paragraph or two is omitted, 
as only introducing a lady and gentleman, 
Mr. and Mrs. Kirkbeck.] 

My new visitors were strangers to me. They 
had seen a portrait I had painted, and wished 
for likenesses of themselves and their chil- 
dren. The price I named did not deter them 
and they asked to look around the studio to 
select the style and size they should prefer. 
The inspection proving satisfactory, they 
asked whether I could paint the pictures at 
their house in the country, and there being 
no difficulty on this point, an engagement 
was made for the following autumn, subject 
to my writing to fix the time when I might 
be able to leave town for the purpose. This 
being adjusted, the gentleman gave me his 
card and they left. Shortly afterwards, on 
looking at the card left by the strangers, I 
was somewhat disappointed to find that 
though it contained the names of Mr. and 
Mrs. Kirkbeck there was no address. I tried 
to find it by looking at the Court Guide, but 
it contained no such name, so I put the card 
in my writing-desk and forgot for a time the 
entire transaction. 

Autumn came, and with it a series of en- 
gagements I had made in the North of Eng- 
land. Towards the end of September, 1858, 1 
was one of a dinner party at a country house 
at the confines of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. 
The party was a numerous one, and as the 
meal approached its termination and was 
about to subside into the dessert, the conver- 
sation became general. I should here men- 
tion that my hearing is defective, at some 
times more so than at others, and on this 
particular evening I was extra deaf— so much 
so that the conversation only reached me in 
the form of a continued din. At one instant 
however, I heard a word distinctly pronounc- 
ed, though it was uttered by a person at a 
considerable distance from me, and that 
word was— Kirkbeck. In the business of the 
London season I had forgotten all about the 
visitors of the spring who had left their card 
without the address. The word reaching me 
under such circumstances arrested my at- 
tention and immediately recalled the trans- 
action to my remembrance. On the first op- 
portunity that offered I asked a person whom 
I was conversing with if a family of the 
name in question was resident in the neigh- 
borhood. I was told in reply that a Mr. Kirk- 
beck lived at A , at the further end of the 

county. The next morning I wrote to this 
person, saying that I believed he called at 
my studio in the spring, and had made an 


5 


arrangement with me which I was prevented 
fulfilling by there being no address on his 
card: furthermore, that I should shortly be 
in his neighborhood on my return from the 
north, but should I bemistakerim addressing 
him, I begged he would not trouble himself 
to reply to my note. I gave as my address 
The Post-Ofiice, York. On applying there 
three days afterward I received a note from 
Mr. Kirkbeck stating that he was very glad 
he had heard from me and that if I would 
call on my return he would arrange about 
the pictures; he also told me to write a day 
before I proposed coming, that he might not 
otherwise engage himself. It was ultimate- 
ly arranged that I should go to his house the 
succeeding Saturday, stay till Monday morn- 
ing, transact afterwards what matters I had 
to attend to in London and return in a fort- 
night to execute the commissions. 

The day having arrived for my visit, direct- 
ly after breakfast I took my place in the mor- 
ning train from York to London. The train 
would stop at Doncaster, and after that at 
Retford Junction, where I should have to get 
out in order to take the line through Lincoln 

to A . The day was cold, wet, foggy 

and every way as disagreeable as I have ever 
known a day to be in an English October. 
The carriage in which I was seated had no 
other occupant than myself, but at Doncas- 
ter a lady got in. My place was back to the 
engine and next to the door. As that is con- 
sidered the ladies’ seat, I offered it to her; she, 
however, very graciously declined it and 
took the corner opposite, saying, in a very 
agreeable voice, that she liked to feel the 
breeze on her cheek. The next few minutes 
were occupied in locating herself. There 
was ihe cloak to be spread under her, the 
skirts of the dress to be arranged, the gloves 
to be tightened, and such other trifling ar- 
rangements of plumage as ladies are wont to 
make before sitting themselves comfortably 
at church or elsewhere, the last and most im- 
portant being the placing back over her 
hat the veil that concealed her features. I 
could then see that the lady was young, cer- 
tainly pot more than two or three and twen- 
ty; but being moderately tall, rather robust 
in make and decided in expression, she 
might have been two or three years younger. 

I suppose that her complexion \vould be 
termed a medium one; her hair being of a 
bright brown or auburn, while her eyes and 
rather decidedly marked eyebrows were near- 
ly black. The color of her cheek was that 
pale transparent hue that sets off to such ad- 
vantage large, expressive eyes and an equa- 
ble, firm expression of mouth. On the whole 
the ensemble was rather handsome than 
beautiful, her expression having that agree- 
able depth and harmony about it that ren- 
dered her face and features, though not 
strictly regular, infinitely more attractive 
than if they had been modelled upon the 
strictest rules of symmetry. 


It is no small advantage on a wet day and 
a dull, long journey to have an agreeable 
companion; one who can converse and whose 
conversation has sufficient substance in it to 
make one forget the length and dreariness 
of the journey. In this respect I had no de- 
ficiency to complain of, the lady being decid- 
edly and agreeably conversational. When 
she had settled herself to her satisfaction she 
asked to be allowed to look at my Bradshaw, 
and not being a proficient in that difficult 
work, she requested my aid in ascertaining 
at what time the train passed through Ret- 
ford again on its way back from London to 
York. The conversation turned afterwards 
on general topics, and, somewhat to my sur- 
prise she led it into such particular subjects 
as I might be supposed to be more especially 
familiar with; indeed, I could not avoid re- 
marking that her entire manner, while it 
was anything but forward, was that of one 
who had either known me personally or by 
report. There was in her manner a kind of 
confidential reliance when she listened to» 
me that is not usually accorded to a stranger,, 
and sometimes she actually seemed to refer 
to different circumstances with which I had 
been connected in times past. After about 
three-quarters of an hour’s conversation the- 
train arrived at Retford, where I was to* 
change carriages. On my alighting and 
wishing her good-morning, she made a 
slight movement of the hand, as if she meant 
me to shake it, and on my doing so she said,, 
by way of adieu: “I dare say we shall meet 
again;” to which I replied: “I hope we shall 
all meet again,” and so parted, she going ou 
the line towards London and I through Lin- 
colnshire to A . The remainder of the^ 

journey was cold, wet and dreary. I missed 
the agreeable conversation and tried to sup- 
ply its place with a book I had brought with 
me from York and the Times newspaper,, 
which I had procured at Retford. But the 
most disagreeable journey comes to an end 
at last, and 5:30 in the evening found me at 
the termination of mine. A carriage was 
waiting for me at the station, where Mr* 
Kirkbeck was also expected by the same train- 
but as he did not appear it was concluded he- 
would come by the next — half an hour later r. 
accordingly the carriage drove away with 
myself only. 

The family being from home at the mo- 
ment and the dinner hour being 7, 1 went at 
once to my room to unpack and to dress* 
Having completed these operations I descend- 
ed' to the drawing room. It probably wanted 
some time to the dinner hour, as the lamps 
were not yet lighted, but in their place a 
large blazing fire threw a flood of light into* 
every corner of the room, and more especial- 
ly over a lady who, dressed in deep black, 
was standing by the chimney-place warming 
a very handsome foot on the edge of the 
fender. Her face being turned away from 
the door by which I had entered I did not 


6 


at first see her features. On my advancing 
into the middle of the room, however, the 
foot was immediately withdrawn and she 
turned round to accost me, when to my pro- 
found astonishment, I perceived that it was 
none other than my companion in the rail- 
way carriage. She betrayed no surprise at 
seeing me. On the contrary, with one of 
those agreeable, joyous expressions that 
makes the plainest woman appear beautiful, 
she accosted me with: “I said we should meet 
again.’’ 

My bewilderment at that moment almost 
deprived me of utterance. 1 knew of no rail- 
way or other means by which she could have 
come. I had certainly left her in a London 
train and had seen it start, and the only con- 
ceivable way in which she could have come 
was by going to Peterborough and then re- 
turning by a branch to A , a circuit of 

about ninety miles. As soon as my surprise 
enabled me to speak, I said that I wished I 
had come by the same conveyance as her- 
self. 

“That would have been rather difficult,” 
she rejoined. 

At this moment the servant came in with 
the lamps and informed me that his master 
had just arrived and would be down in a few 
minutes. 

The lady took up a book containing some 
engravings, and having singled one out (a 

portrait of Lady A ), asked me to look 

at it well and tell her whether I thought it 
like her. 

I was engaged trying to get up an opinion 
when Mr. and Mrs. Kirkbeck entered, and, 
shaking me heartily by the hand, apologized 
for not being at home to receive me; the 
gentleman ended by requesting me to take 
Mrs. Kirkbeck in to dinner. 

The lady of the house having taken my arm, 
we marched on. I certainly hesitated a mo- 
ment to allow Mr. Kirkbeck to pass on first 
with the mysteriou j lady in black, but Mrs. 
Kirkbeck not seeming to understand it, we 
passed on at once. The dinner party consisted 
of us four only, we fell into our respective 
places at the table without difficulty, the 
mistress and master of the house at the top 
and bottom, the lady in black and myself on 
each side. The dinner passed much as is 
usual on such occasions. I having to play 
the guest, directed my conversation princi- 
pally, if not exclusively, to my host and host- 
ess, and I cannot call to mind that I or any 
one else addressed the lady opposite. Seeing 
this, and remembering something that look- 
ed like a slight want of attention to her on 
coming to the dining-room, I at once con- 
cluded that she was the governess. I observ- 
ed, however, that she made an excellent din- 
ner; she seemed to appreciate both the beef 
and the tart, as well as a glass of claret af- 
terwards; probably she had had no luncheon 
or the journey had given her an appetite. 

The dinner ended, the ladies retired, and 


after the usual port Mr. Kirkbeck and I join- 
ed them in the drawing-room. By this time, 
however, a much larger party had assembled. 
Brothers and sisters-in-law had come in from 
their residences in the neighborhood, and 
several children, with Miss Hardwick, their 
governess, were also introduced to me. I saw 
at once that my supposition as to the lady in 
black being the governess was incorrect. Af- 
ter passing the time necessarily occupied in 
complimenting the children, in saying some- 
thing to the different persons to whom I was 
introduced, I found myself again engaged in 
conversation with the lady of the railway 
carriage, aud as the topic of the evening had 
referred principally to portrait-painting, she 
continued the subject: 

“Do you think you could paint my por- 
trait?” the lady inquired. 

“Yes, 1 think I could, if I had the opportun- 
ity.” 

“Now, look at my face well; do you think 
you should recollect my features?” 

“Yes, I am sure I should never forget your 
features.” 

“Of course I might have expected you to 
say that; but do you think you could do me 
from recollection?” 

“Well, if it be necessary, I will try; but 
can’t you give me any sittings?” 

“No, quite impossible; it could not be. It 
is said that the print I showed you before 
dinner is like me; do you think so?” 

“Not much.” I replied; “it has not your 
expression. If you can give me one sitting, 
it would be better than none.” 

“No; I don’t see how it could be.” 

The evening being by this time pretty far 
advanced and the chamber candles being 
brought in, on the plea of being rather tired, 
she shook me heartily by the hand and wish- 
ed me good-night. My mysterious acquaint- 
ance caused me no small pondering during 
the night. I had never been introduced to 
her, I had not seen her speak to any one dur- 
ing the entire evening— not even to wish 
them good-night — how she got across the 
country was an inexplicable mystery. Then, 
why did she wish me to paint her f ropi mem- 
ory, and why could she not give me even one 
sitting? Finding the difficulties of a solu- 
tion to these questions rather increased up- 
on me, I made up my mind to defer further- 
consideration of them till breakfast time, 
when I supposed the matter would receive 
some elucidation. 

The breakfast now came, but with it no 
lady in black. The breakfast over, we went 
to church, came home to luncheon, and so on 
through the day, but still no lady, neither 
any reference to her. I then concluded that 
she must be some relative who had gone 
away early in the morning to visit another 
member of the family living close by. I was 
much puzzled, however, by no reference 
whatever being made to her, and finding no 
opportunity of leading any part of my con- 


versation with the family towards the sub- 
ject, I went to bed the second night more 
puzzled than ever. On the servant coming 
in in the morning I ventured to ask him the 
name of the lady who dined at the table on 
the Saturday evening, to which he answer- 
ed: 

“A lady, sir? No lady, only Mrs. Kirkbeck 
sir.” 

“Yes, the lady that sat opposite me, dress- 
ed in black?” 

“Perhaps Miss Hardwick, the governess, 
sir?” 

“No, not Miss Hardwick; she came down 
afterwards.” 

“No lady as I see, sir.” 

“Oh, dear me, yes; the lady dressed in 
black that was in the drawing room when I 
arrived, before Mr. Kirkbeck came home?” 

The man looked at me with surprise as if 
he doubted my sanity, and only answered, “I 
never see any lady, sir,” and then left. 

The mystery now appeared more impene- 
trable than ever. I thought it over in every 
possible aspect, but could come to no con- 
clusion upon it. Breakfast was early that 
morning to allow of my catching the morn- 
ing train to London. The same cause slight- 
ly hurried us and allowed no time for con- 
versation beyond that having direct refer- 
ence to the business that brought me there; 
so, after arranging to return to paint the 
portraits on that day three weeks, I made 
my adieus and took my departure for town. 

It is only necessary for me to refer to 
my second visit to the house in order to 
state that I was assured most positively, 
both by Mr, and Mrs. Kirkbeck, that no 
fourth person dined at the table on the Sat- 
urday evening in question. Their recol- 
lection was clear on the question, as they 
had debated whether they should ask Miss 
Hardwick, the governess, to take the vacant 
seat, but had decided not to do so; neither 
could they recall to mind any such person as 
I described in the whole circle of their ac- 
quaintance. 

Some weeks passed. It was close upon 
Christmas. The light of a short winter day 
was drawing to a close, and I was seated at 
my table writing letters for the evening 
post. My back was toward the folding-doors 
leading into the room in which my visitors 
usually waited. I had been engaged some 
minutes in writing when without hearing or 
seeing anything, I became aware that a per- 
son had come through the folding-doors, and 
was then standing beside me. I turned and 
beheld the lady of the railway carriage. I 
suppose that my manner indicated that I 
was somewhat startled, as the lady, after 
the usual salutation, said, “Pardon me for 
disturbing you. You did not hear me come 
in.” 

Her manner, though it was more quiet and 
subdued than I had known it before, was 
hardly to be termed grave, still less sorrow- 


ful. There was a change, but it was that 
kind of change only which may often be ob- 
served from the frank impulsiveness of an 
intelligent young lady to the composure and 
self-possession of that same young lady when 
she is either betrothed or has recently be- 
come a matron. She asked me whether I had 
made any attempt at a likeness of her. I 
was obliged to confess that I had not. She 
regretted it much, as sh6 wished one for 
her father. She had brought an engrav- 
ing (a portrait of Lady M. A.) with her 
that she thought would assist me. It was 
like the one she had asked my opinion upon 
at the house in Lincolnshire. It had always 
been considered very like her, and she would 
leave it with me. Then (putting her hand 
impressively on my arm) she added: “She 
really would be most thankful and grateful 
to me if I would do it” — and if I recollect 
rightly, she added “as much depended on it.” 
Seeing she was so much in earnest I took up 
my sketch-book, and, by the dim light that 
was still remaining, began to make a rapid 
pencil sketch of her. On observing my 'do- 
ing so, however, instead of giving me what 
assistance she was able she turned away, un- 
der the pretense of looking at the pictures 
around the room, occasionally passing from 
one to another so as to enable me to catch a 
momentary glimpse of her features. In this 
manner I made two hurried but rather ex- 
pressive sketches of her, which, being all 
that the declining light would allow me to 
do, I shut my book and she prepared to leave. 
This time, instead of the usual “Hood morn- 
ing,” she wished me an impressively pro- 
nounced “Good-by,” firmly holding rather 
than shaking my hand while she said it. I 
accompanied her to the door, outside of 
which she seemed rather to fade into the 
darkness than to pass through it. But I re- 
ferred this impression to my own fancy. 

I immediately inquired of the servant why 
she had not announced the visitor to me. 
She stated that she was not aware there had 
been one, and that any who had entered 
must have done so when she had left the 
street door open about half an hour previous- 
ly, while she went across the road for a mo- 
ment. 

Soon after this occurred I had to fulfill an 
engagement at a house near Botsworth 
Field, in Leicestershire. I left town on a 
Friday, having sent some pictures that were 
too large to take with me by the luggage train 
a week previously, in order that they might 
be at the house on my arrival, and occasion 
me no loss of time in waiting for them. On 
getting to the house, however, I found that 
they had not been heard of, and on inquir- 
ing at the station, it was stated that a case 
similar to the one I described had passed 
through and gone on to Leicester, where it 
probably still was. It being Friday, and 
past the time of the post, there was no pos- 
sibility of getting a letter to Leicester before 


8 


Monday morning, as the luggage office 
would be closed on Sunday; consequently I 
could in no case expect the arrival of the 
pictures before the succeeding Tuesday or 
Wednesday. The loss of three days would be 
a serious one; therefore, to avoid it, I sug- 
gested to my host that I should leave imme- 
diately to transact some business in South 
Staffordshire, as I should be obliged to at- 
tend to it before my return to town, and if I 
could see about it in the vacant interval thus 
thrown upon my hands it would be saving 
me the same amount of time after my visit 
to his house was concluded. This arrange- 
ment meeting with his ready consent, I has- 
tened to the Atherstone station on the Trent 
Valley Railway. By reference to Bradshaw I 
found that my route lay through Litchfield, 

where I was to change carriages to S , in 

Staffordshire. I was just in time for the 
train that would put me down at Litchfield at 
8 in the evening, and a train was announced 
to start from Litchfield for S at 8:10, an- 

swering as I concluded, to the train in which 
I was about to travel. I thereiore saw no 
reason to doubt but that I should get to my 
journey’s end the same night; but on my ar- 
riving at Litchfield I found my plans entire- 
ly frustrated. The train arrived punctually, 
a!:d I got out, intending to wait on the plat- 
form for the arrival of the carriages for the 
other line. I found, however, though the two 
lines crossed at Litchfield, they did not com- 
municate with each other, the Litchfield 
station on the Trent Valley line being on one 
side of the town and the Litchfield station on 
the South Staffordshire line on the other. I 
also found that there was not time to get 
to the other station so as to catch the train 
the same evening; indeed the train had just 
that moment passed on a lower level beneath 
my feet, and to get to the other side of the 
town, where it would stop for two minutes 
only, was out of the question. There was, 
therefore, nothing for it but to put up at the 
Swan Hotel for the night. I have an espe- 
cial dislike to passing an evening at a hotel 
in a country town. Dinner at such places I 
never take, as I had rather go without than 
have such as I am likely to get. Books are 
never to be had; the country newspapers do 
not interest me. The Times I have spelt 
through on my journey. The society I am 
likely to meet have few ideas in common 
with myself. Under such circumstances I 
usually resort to a meat tea to while away 
the time, and when that is over occupy my- 
self in writing. 

This was the first time I had been in Litch- 
field, and while waiting for the tea it oc- 
curred to me, how, on two occasions within 
the past six months, I had been on the point 
of coming to that very place, at one time to 
execute a small commission for an old ac- 
quaintance, resident there, and another to 
get the materials for a picture I proposed 
painting of an incident in the early life of 


Dr. Johnson. I should have come on each 
of these occasions had not other arrange- 
ments diverted my purpose and caused me 
to postpone the journey indefinitely. The 
thought, however would occur to me: “How 
strange! Here I am at Litchfield, by no in- 
tention of my own, though 1 have twice tried 
to get here and been balked.” When I had 
done tea I thought I might as well write to 
an acquaintance I had known some years 
previously and who lived in the Cathedral- 
close, asking him to come and pass an hour 
or two with me. Accordingly I rang for the 
waitress and asked: 

“Does Mr. Lute live in Litchfield?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Cathedral-close?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Can I send a note to him.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

I wrote the note saying where I was and 
asking if he would come for an hour or two 
and talk over old matters. The note was 
taken; in about twenty minutes a person of 
gentlemanly appearance, and what might be 
termed the advanced middle age, entered the 
room with my note in his hand, saying that 
I had sent him a letter, he presumed, by 
mistake, as he did not know my name. See- 
ing instantly that he was not the person I 
intended to write to, I apologized, and 
asked whether there was not another Mr. 
Lute living in Litchfield. 

“No, there was none other.” 

“Certainly,” I rejoined, “my friend must 
have given me his right address, for I had 
written to him on other occasions here. He 
was a fair young man; he succeeded to an 
estate in consequence of his uncle having 
been killed while hunting with the Quorn 
hounds, and he married about two years 
since a lady of the name of Fairbarn.,’ 

The stranger very composedly replied: 
“You are speaking of Mr. Clyne; he did live 
in the Cathedral-close, but he has now gone 
away.” 

The stranger was right, and in my sur- 
prise I exclaimed; 

“Oh, dear! to be sure, that is the name; 
what could have made me address you in- 
stead? I really beg your pardon; my writ- 
ing to you and unconsciously guessing your 
name is one of the most oxtraordinary and 
unaccountable things I ever did. Pray par- 
don me.” 

He continued very quietly: 

“There is no need of apology; it happens 
that you are the very person I most wished 
to see. Yon are a painter and I want you to 
paint a portrait of my daughter. Can you 
come to my house immediately for the pur- 
pose?” 

I was rather surprised at finding myself 
known to him, and the turn matters had tak- 
en was so entirely unexpected I did not at 
the moment feel inclined to undertake the 
business; 1 therefore explained how I was 


9 


situated, stating that I had only the next day 
and Monday at my disposal. He, however, 
pressed me so earnestly that I arranged to do 
what I could for him in those two days; and 
having put up my baggage and arranged 
other matters I accompanied him to his house. 
During the walk home he scarcely spoke a 
word, but his taciturnity seemed only a con- 
tinuance of his quiet composure at the inn. 
On our arrival, he introduced me to his 
daughter Maria and then left the room. Maria 
Lute was a fair and a decidedly handsome 
girl of about fifteen; her manner was, how- 
ever, in advance of her years, and evinced 
that self-possession and, in the favorable 
sense of the term, that womanliness that is 
only seen at such an early age in girls that 
have been left motherless or from other causes 
thrown much on their own resources. 

She had evidently not been informed of the 
purpose of my coming, and only knew that I 
was to stay there for the night; she therefore 
excused herself for a few moments, that she 
might give the requisite directions to the 
servants as to the preparing my room. When 
she returned, she told me that I should not 
see her father again that evening, the state 
of his health having obliged him to retire 
for the night; but she hoped I should be able 
to see him some time on the morrow. In the 
mean time, she hoped I would make myself 
quite at home, and call for anything I want- 
ed. She herself was sitting in the drawing- 
room, but perhaps I should like to smoke and 
take something; if so, there was a fire in the 
housekeeper’s room, and she would come and 
sit with me, as she expected the medical at- 
tendant every minute, and he would probably 
stay to smoke and take something. As the 
little lady seemed to recommend this course, 
I readily complied. I did not smoke or take 
anything, but sat down by the fire, when she 
immediately joined me. She conversed well 
and readily, and with a command of langu- 
age singular in a person so young. Without 
being disagreeably inquisitive, or putting 
any question to me, she seemed desirous of 
learning the business that had brought me 
to the house. I told her that her father wish- 
ed me to paint either her portrait, or that of 
a sister of hers, if she had one. 

She remained silent and thoughtful for a 
moment, and then seemed to comprehend it 
at once. She told me that a sister of hers, 
an only one, to whom her father was devoted- 
ly attached, died near four months previous- 
ly; that her father had never yet recovered 
from the shock of her death. He had often 
expressed the most earnest wish for a por- 
trait of her; indeed, it was his one thought; 
and she hoped, if something of the kind could 
be done, it would improve his health. Here 
she hesitated, stammered and burst into 
tears. After awhile she continued: “It is no 
use hiding from you what you must very 
soon be aware of. Papa is insane— he has 
been so ever since dear Caroline was buried. 


He says he is always seeing dear Caroline, 
and he is subject to fearful delusions. The 
doctor says he cannot tell how much worse 
he may be, and that everything dangerous, 
like knives or razors, is to be kept out of his 
reach. It was necessary you should not see 
him again this evening, as he was unable to 
converse properly, and I fear the same may 
be the case to-morrow; but perhaps you can 
stay over Sunday, and I may be able to assist 
you in doing what he wishes. I asked whether 
they had any materials for making a likeness 
—a photograph, a sketch of anything else for 
me to go from. “No, they had nothing.” 
“Could she describe her clearly?” She thought 
she could, and there was a print that was 
very much like her, but she had mislaid it. 
I mentioned that with such disadvantages 
and in such an absence of materials I did not 
anticipate a very satisfactory result. I had 
painted portraits under such circumstances, 
but their success much depended upon the 
powers of description of the persons who 
were to assist me by their recollection; in 
some instances I had attained a certain 
amount of success, but in most the result 
was quite a failure. The medical attendant 
came, but I did not see him. I learned, how- 
ever, that he ordered a strict watch to be 
kept on his patient till he came again the 
next morning. Seeing the state of things, 
and how much the little lady had to attend 
to, I retired early to bed. The next morning 
I heard that her father was decidedly better; 
he had inquired earnestly, on waking, wheth- 
er I was really in the house, and at break- 
fast time he sent down to say that he hoped 
nothing would prevent my making an at- 
tempt at the portrait immediately, and he 
expected to be able to see me in the course 
of the day. 

Directly after breakfast I set to work, aid- 
ed by such description as the sister could 
give me. I tried again and again, but with- 
out success, or, indeed, the least prospect of 
it. The features, I was told, were separately 
like, but the expression was not. Moiled on 
the greater part of the day, with no better 
result. The different studies I made were 
taken up to the invalid, but the same answer 
was always returned— no resemblance. I 
had exerted myself to the utmost, and, in 
fact, was not a little fatigued by so doing— a 
circumstance that the little lady evidently 
noticed, as she expressed herself most grate- 
ful for the interest she could see I took in 
the matter and referred the unsuccessful re- 
sult entirely to her want of powers of de- 
scription. 

She also said it was so provoking! she had 
a print —a portrait of a lady, that was so like 
but it had gone — she had missed it from her 
book for three weeks past. It was the more 
disappointing, as she was sure it would have 
been of great assistance. I asked if she could 
tell me who the print was of, as, if I knew, I 
could easily procure one in London. She 


10 


answered Lady M. A. Immediately the name 
was uttered the whole scene of the lady of 
the railway carriage presented itself to me. 
I had my sketch-book in my portmanteau up 
stairs, and, by a fortunate'chance, fixed in it 
was the print in question, with the two pen- 
cil sketches. I instantly brought them down 
and showed them to Maria Lute. She looked 
at them for a moment, turned her eyes full 
upon me, and said slowly and with something 
of fear in her manner, “Where did you get 
these?” Then quicker, and without waiting 
for my answer, “Let me take them instantly 
to papa.” She was away ten minutes or 
more; when she returned her father came 
with her. He did not wait for salutations, 
but said, in a tone and manner I had not ob- 
served in him before, “I was. right all the 
time; it was you that I saw with her, and 
these sketches are from her and from no one 
else. I value them more than all my posses- 
sions, except this dear child.” Toe daughter 
also assured me that the print I had brought 
to the house must be the one taken from the 
book about three weeks before, in proof of 
which she pointed out to me the gum marks 
at the back, which exactly corresponded with 
those left on the blank leaf. From the mo- 
ment the father saw these sketches his men- 
tal health returned. 

I was not allowed to touch either of the 
pencil drawings in the sketch-book, as it was 
feared I might injure them, but an oil picture 
from them was commenced immediately, the 
father sitting by me hour after hour direct- 
ing mv touc&s, conversing rationally, and 
indeed cheerfully while he did so. He avoid- 
ed direct reference to his delusions, but from 
time to time led the conversation to the man- 
ner in which I had originally obtained the 
sketches. The doctor came in the evening 
and, after extolling the particular treatment 
he had adopted, pronounced his patient de- 
cidedly, and he believed permanently im- 
proved. 

The next day being Sunday, we all went 
to church; the father for the first time since 
his bereavement. During a walk which he 


took with me after luncheon he again ap- 
proached the subject of the sketches, and af- 
ter some seeming hesitation as to whether he 
should confide in me or not, he said; “Your 
writing to me by name from the inn at 
Litchfield was one of those inexplicable cir- 
cumstances that I suppose it is impossible to 
clear up. I knew you, however, directly I 
saw you; when those about me considered 
my intellect was disordered, and that I spoke 
incoherently, it was only because I saw 
things that they did not. Since her death I 
know with a certainty, that nothing will 
ever disturb, that at different times I have 
been in the actual and visible presence of 
my daughter that is gone— oftener, indeed, 
just after her death than latterly. Of the 
many times that this has occurred, I distinct- 
ly remember once seeing her in a railway 
carriage speaking to a person sitting oppo- 
site; who that person was I could not ascer- 
tain, as my position seemed to be immediate- 
ly behind him. I next saw her at a dinner- 
table, with others, unquestionably, I saw 
yourself. I afterwards learned that at that 
time I was considered to be in one of my 
longest and most violent paroxysms, as I 
continued to see her speaking to you, in the 
midst of a large assembly, for some hours. 
Again I saw her standing by your side, while 
you were engaged either in writing or draw- 
ing. I saw her once afterwards, but the 
next time I saw yourself was in the inn par- 
lor.” 

The picture proceeded with the next day 
and on the day after the face was completed, 
and afterwards I brought it with me to Lon- 
don to finish. 

I have often seen Mr. L. since that period; 
his health is perfectly re-established and his 
manner and conversation are as cheerful as 
can be expected within a few years of so 
great a bereavement. 

The portrait now hangs in his bedroom, 
with the print and the two sketches by the 
side, and written beneath is: “C. L., 13th 
September, 1858, aged twenty-two.” 


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